


Headwaters

by Urist



Category: Original Work
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Knight, Medieval, Oral Sex, Other, Washing/Bathing, Water Spirit, and then eating her out until she tells you to stop, do naiads need to breathe?, respect nature – always tell a secluded pool how wonderful it looks, the inherent romanticism of washing your girlfriend, this fic firmly says No.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urist/pseuds/Urist
Summary: Etiquette can be difficult when dating a naiad.
Relationships: Female Knight Who Loves Baths/Female Water or Hotspring Spirit Who Loves Knights
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Headwaters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NachoDiablo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/gifts).



> If you want to skip the porn, stop reading at the first break and join back up at "Her girlfriend surfaces, curls up to her, and kisses her"

There’s a knight, fully armored and holding a helm, glaring at a pond.

Glaring is a slight understatement. As far as glares go, it’s more like an avalanche – furious, imperative, impossible to look away from. It’s a glare that promises havoc, enough to fill an entire lifetime.

The pond does not respond.

The knight throws up her hands. “Look. I have _said_ I am sorry. And we agreed we’re both fine with this kind of openness. You had that – that absolutely _filthy_ noble woman here last month. I was skimming you every time I saw you for a week!”

There’s a faint ripple. A few leaves shift on the surface.

“I fought seven bouts and won all of them, I was dirty! Taking a shower was justified. And I’ve taken showers before, _Margaret!_ So what’s your issue?”

The water level drops, seems to curl away from the knight.

“Oh, don’t pout! I said I might, so what did I do wrong? What, would you rather I ride all the way back from the tournament muddy and sweaty, after the stink you made over some princess with a spot of dirt?”

The pond surges forward, forms into the rippling translucent shape of a woman, with legs that remain anchored in the water from the ankles down. She plants a finger against the knight’s breastplate. “Really, Cycera! The best you can do is ask ‘Oh, was taking a shower wrong?’”

“Well? Was it?!” The knight – Cycera – is shouting now, her words reverberating around the small glade and drowning out the sound of the creek flowing away from the pond. A few birds take flight from the plum trees, briefly casting shadows via the afternoon sun.

“I cannot believe you. You come here, hair still wet – “

“It has been _humid!_ ”

“ – and have the audacity to ask if the shower was okay. Not the point at all.” Margaret turns away and tosses a dismissive spray of water towards Cycera.

“Hey, I’m still in armor! And if the shower isn’t, then what is?”

Margaret turns back around. “The point, oh lover of mine, is that I don’t have an _issue_ with you taking showers. But you used to come here to wash after _all_ your tournaments.”

Cycera puts her helm down on the ground. “I used to, sure. But that was before I realized bathing here was rude _._ ”

The water sprite slams her hands on her hips. “When. When, Cycera.” She tosses a hand out and around in a searching gesture. “When did I ever say it was rude? Or that I didn’t like my girlfriend taking a bath with me?”

“You – ” Cycera gapes, then gestures bemusedly. “Did I not just mention you asking me to pick things out of you? For days?”

“Well, yes. But, Cycera. I am literally – ” Margaret sighs and grabs the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Hold on, let me just show you.” She falls back under the water, form dissipating. There’s a brief moment, then the surface whelms upward – up over the moss-covered edges, up over the tiers of water-carved rock seats, up over the small trickling outflow. It turns, all at once, bows wide around Cycera, and splashes down the creek. Suddenly, the upwelling stops, and the pool falls back in place, now only filling the rock bowl halfway. The leaves are conspicuously absent, the water crystal clear.

There’s a low burbling sound and the pond starts to refill. Wisps of steam curl off it invitingly. Cycera stares at it, then shifts her gaze to Margaret’s face as she reforms out of it.

“So, maybe, Cycera, maybe I didn’t _need_ you to clean me – ”

Cycera drops her sword belt, starts unbuckling her breastplate, shucking her grieves.

Margaret’s face falls. “I’m sorry! I should have asked, I know! It just felt nice to have you take care of me like – what are you doing?”

Cycera finishes peeling herself out of her armor, then pulls off her tunic and trousers and tosses them towards Margaret’s pond. She yells out a quick “I’ll be right back, Mags!” before running, clothed only in a breastband and hose, into the forest.

Margaret raises her hands and huffs, then looks around. There’s a faint rustle in the bushes, then another flock of birds suddenly lifts, cawing and squawking. She furrows her brow, opens her mouth to speak, but utters only an incoherent plaintive noise. Shaking her head, she flows back around and starts idly hanging up the tunic and trousers.

After a few more moments, the hedges part to reveal Cycera, mud-splattered and sweaty, breathing heavily. She throws one hand forward theatrically and projects, “A beautiful spring that steams so wonderfully! How fortuitous! For while I, a knight, am flush with the thrill of victory, I am also bedraggled, soiled, and sore.”

She takes a few steps closer, then over-exaggeratedly slams a hand to her bosom and shakes her head in surprise. “But what’s this?! Oh, fair maiden of the pool - how lovely you are! I shall dedicate my triumph to you, if you’d permit me to bathe in your soothing waters.” She strides up towards the edge.

Margaret looks her in the eyes – and promptly dissolves into giggles. “You’re _such_ a fucking dork, Cy!”

A smile cracks across Cycera’s face. “Yeah, but you love me anyways.”

“Sometimes even because of it.” Cycera steps up, and Margaret wraps her arms around her as they kiss. After several seconds, though, she leans back, says, “Hey lover. Time for a bath,” then tightens her arms around Cycera and pulls them both under.

* * *

The water flows around them, splashing and bubbling. Cycera can feel Margaret’s hands working along her underclothes – she’s disoriented for a moment before the water pops her, stark naked, on one of the reclining rock seats. The pond snaps back to placid calm as Margaret reforms, straddling her. She quirks her head to the side and plants a kiss against Cycera’s lips, then, “Cy – do you mind if I wash you?”

“Not. At. All.”

“That’s what I want to hear from my knight.” Margaret raises the water level until it’s just below Cycera’s collarbones, then starts running her hand along her shoulders and down her chest. Cycera leans back into it, enjoying the gentle pressure. There’s a few quiet moments, just the slosh of water, before Margaret shifts and lands her thigh between Cycera’s legs. Cycera looks up, but Margaret’s face doesn’t show any expression beyond a slightly focused gaze as she starts to wash the mud out of Cycera’s hair.

Cyceria leans forward, resting her head against Margaret’s chest, and just treasures the feeling of being attended to. After a comfortable interval, Margaret’s hand slides out her hair and down onto her tit, circling the nipple before palming it comfortably. Cycera chokes out a brief, “Uh, are – ” before Margaret leans down into a kiss. She breaks off, leaving Cycera breathless, and whispers into her ear, “I’ve missed you, and I’ve _really_ missed having you bathe here. If you want this, nod.” Cycera nods.

Margaret grins and keeps her hand there, using it as a support while her other hand keeps washing the mud out of Cycera’s hair. It’s relaxing and restful, but also simultaneously deeply arousing, and Cycera can feeling her breath start to catch and hitch. She slides her hips forward, search for the friction of Margaret’s thigh.

Her girlfriend looks down at her. “You want that?”

“Please,” Cycera growls.

A slight chuckle burbles out of Margaret’s throat. “Alright.” She shifts her leg forward, the contact gratifyingly electric, but she drops her hand and braces it against Cycera’s hips when she tries to rock. “I’m the one taking care of you right now, Cy. Let me.” Cy whines back up at her, but Margaret keeps her hand tight on her hip until she nods.

Margaret brings her hand back up to her nipple, but starts circling it directly. At the same time, the water around Cycera’s lower back _pulls_ her onto Margaret’s leg. Every few seconds, it relaxes, then returns, dragging her up and down Margaret’s flexed thigh. Cycera buries her face into Margaret’s chest and moans heavily.

Cycera’s fallen into a low whimper by the time Margaret finishes washing her hair. Suddenly, the water around flows around her again, and the sensation of Margaret’s thigh disappears. One of Margaret’s hands slides up the length of Cycera’s hair and into her roots, pressing steadily against her scalp and holding her tight into her chest, while the other slips down to her waist. Cycera lets out a husky cry as Margaret’s fingers trace the outside of her lips, back and forth. She deftly circles around and around, palm occasionally brushing her clit, then drops the hand holding Cycera to again stroke a nipple.

After several minutes of caresses and teases, Margaret starts kissing along her skin, wherever she can reach. Cycera throws her head back, asking without words, and her girlfriend shifts to along her jaw, moving up and down the length of her neck. Cycera’s vision starts to blur from the onslaught, and soon she can barely even see the trees above her. Margaret skillfully teases out moan after moan, until Cycera can scarcely think. Before she can start wetly pleading to come, though, her girlfriend pulls back, lifts both hands out of the water, and puts them on Cycera’s shoulders. She pushes her away slightly, cruelly ignoring Cycera’s keened, “Hey, no – put – come _back_ – ”

“In a second, Cy. I’ve got to get rid of all this mucky water.” She sweeps her hands around, and the admittedly muddy top layer of the pool gets swept up and pushed over the outflow, leaving only clean, warm water behind. Margaret drops out of sight, her form disappearing underneath the surface. Cycera squeaks for a second, looking around for her.

After a moment, though, there’s a wonderful warm feeling of motion along her thigh, and Cycera whimpers. Margaret’s tongue lands just right, slickly slipping down one the edge of lip and up the other, before she reaches her clit and flicks once, twice – Cycera clamps her thighs tight around her and absolutely _shrieks,_ her vision collapsing into white as she comes.

She doesn’t know how long she’s out of it for, but she snaps in to feel hands, locked around her ass, pulling her tight against Margaret’s mouth. Her tongue is circling Cycera’s clit, keeping her on edge, and Cycera can’t help but splash her hand into the water, grab her by the hair, and shamelessly moan, “ _More,_ Mags, please more.”

Her girlfriend willingly obliges, settling into a steady rhythm of flicks and long circling licks that relentlessly drive Cycera closer and closer. After an eternal few minutes, Margaret settles her lips against her hood. Cycera clenches her hand and locks her thighs to keep her there. She feels Margaret grinning under her – and then she _sucks,_ tongue pressing directly on Cycera’s clit as she does. Cycera lets out a cracked sob, pulls Margaret into her as tight as she can, and gratefully comes hard against her girlfriend’s mouth.

She’s panting by the time she returns to her own mind again. Margaret’s moved away from her clit to plant kisses up and down the inside of her thigh, but she’s slipped one hand onto the top of her leg and is keeping a slow steady trace around her cunt with her thumb as well. Cycera’s balanced on an edge, yet she somehow manages to slow her breathing enough to _possibly_ regain the ability to speak. Margaret’s form slowly emerges from the water, leisurely kissing up her stomach and chest and onto to her jaw, even as her hand keeps stroking her. Cycera arches her head back as Margaret whispers into her ear, “You sounded so good, Cy. I think the castle heard that one.”

She’d like to reply, she really would, but unfortunately all she can manage is a broken groan.

“You want more?”

This time, she barely croaks out a ragged “ _Please,_ Mags.”

Margaret smiles and kisses her, then starts to trail her mouth back down her body. Cycera’s already blindly moaning before her girlfriend as much as touches her nipple. After Margaret spends endless minutes quietly attending to it with her tongue – while her fingers keep working the outside of Cycera’s cunt – she’s shattered. Once Margaret has gotten her fill of her chest and moved her lips back down to her clit, Cycera is unashamedly howling.

Her voice is tattered by the time the steady pressure of Margaret’s tongue forces her over the edge. Something inside her loosens, and she feels every ounce of stress flow out of her. She lets out a slow lazy cry, then faintly pats her hand around until she finds Margaret’s head and taps it.

Her girlfriend surfaces, curls up to her, and kisses her, long and slow and full. She breaks off, then rests her head under Cycera’s chin and nuzzles in, running her hands along her skin.

After a few minutes of quiet, Cycera clears her throat and says, “I’m never showering again.”

Margaret laughs huskily against her. “You can if you want to. But when my knight shows up looking for a bath and offering to dedicate a victory to me – I’ve got to show at least a little recognition.”

“Oh dear god, please tell me that was more than ‘a little.’”

“Mmm. A respectable amount, let’s say. What you deserve.” She leans in, casually leaving kisses up and down Cycera’s neck.

Cycera lets out a throaty moan, then runs a hand into the roots of Margaret’s hair. “Speaking of deserve… Do you want me to give _you_ what you deserve?”

Her girlfriend smiles against her skin. “Not really feeling anything on that front today, actually. Believe me, taking a bath with you is more than satisfying.” She keeps kissing down Cycera’s neck, into the cleft of her collarbone. “On the other hand, if you want to sit here with your tits out and eat some fruit and catch up, I’d enjoy that.”

Cycera chuckles. “Honestly, that sounds extremely nice, Mags. Wasn’t planning on putting my tits away anytime soon – ”

“Good.” Margaret absentmindedly palms one.

“ – but we are a long ways away from me having enough feeling in my legs to make it to the plum grove – ”

She chuffs, “I _am_ good, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. Just a bit.” They both share a grin. “But anyways, let’s catch up.”

“I’d love to.” Margaret shifts and faces outward, putting the back of her head on Cycera’s chest, then interlaces their fingers. “Oh! That noblewoman stopped by yesterday. And she was _so rude again._ ”

Cycera frowns a bit. “Ugh. Her. What did she do this time?”

“Well, first off, she took a plum! Without asking!” Mags gestures towards the trees.

“That _is_ rude.”

“And then! Unlike a certain well-behaved knight, who understands that secluded pools – ”

“ – _beautiful_ secluded pools – ” Cycera interjects.

“Aww!” Margaret brings Cycera’s hands up and kisses her knuckles, “And yes, unlike someone who understands that such pools tend to mildly appreciate a bit of recognition – ”

“If that’s mild appreciation, I don’t think I’d survive heartfelt gratitude.” Cycera adds dryly.

“Oh, you would. You just wouldn’t be walking out of here anytime soon.”

Cycera makes a strangled noise deep in her throat, then blushes and falls silent.

“Anyways, what does she do?” Margaret exclaims. “Doesn’t say hello, or comment on the temperature, or the décor, or _anything!_ Just plops right in.”

“Well. She’s uncouth.”

“Right?! If you’re not going to appreciate the natural aspects of a pool, just stay in your castle with your hoity-toity _bathtub._ ” She injects the last word with enough venom to make Cycera shudder.

“Does she even know it’s your spring?”

“No, of course not.” Margaret waves her hand dismissively. “There’d be that whole awkward, ‘I’m dating someone, and normally she’s fine with this, but your manners are way too terrible for me to put up with, so leave or find out how deep I _really_ am’ conversation.”

“That – ” Cycera pauses, concern flowing across her features, “ – seems very rehearsed, Mags.”

“There’s always another spoiled girl who thinks a naiad’s pool is her personal bath, Cy.”

“I was unaware of this dynamic,” Cycera says blankly. “Is – do I need to put up a sign? ‘Please be polite, on pain of drowning,’ or something?”

“Hm. Well, I know we said bathers were fine, but would you prefer I don’t reveal myself to tell off rude ones?”

“If you’re fine letting me know if something happens, I’m good. I trust your judgement.”

“Then no sign needed, I’ll take care of it if it gets bad. Thank you for being such an understanding girlfriend.” Margaret plants a kiss on her jaw, and grins at the low growl it provokes. “Plus, I don’t know if our favorite noble will be back anytime soon anyways. Her bathing excursion cost her _several_ pieces of jewelry.”

“You didn’t.”

“The waters of a natural spring are tricky, you know. They’ll pull rings from fingers, strip breastbands off knights. Such a shame.” Margaret waves her hand causally. A small ripple forms and pulls a wad of soaked linen up from the depths.

She plucks it from the upwelling, then unfolds it to reveal several bright trinkets of diamond and gold. “In unrelated news, I got you some… hm.” She holds them up, one at a time, before plopping them on the moss beside them. “That looks like a bracelet. This one’s a necklace. And I think that’s a barbell? How did she lose a piercing?! There’s all that solid _skin_ in the way.” She peers at it with no small amount of fascination.

Cycera falls headlong into a full-throated cackle, choking out, “You – Mags, thank you. I’ll, uh, cherish these _thoughtful_ gifts. Forever.”

Her girlfriend spins around in her arms, snickering. “That’s what I like to hear, Cy, I picked them out _just_ for you. Now, I believe there was some mention of a plum?”

Letting her laugh fade, Cycera gently moves her legs to test them. “I think I’ve recovered enough to walk, yes.”

“Wonderful. If you get us a snack, I might have a spot of dessert afterwards.”

She goes wide-eyed. “Oh. Okay.”

* * *

There’s a knight, nude and holding a plum, gazing at a pond.

Gazing is a slight understatement. As far as gazes go, it’s more like an ocean – broad, powerful, ever-present. It’s a gaze that promises love, enough to fill an entire lifetime.

The pond gazes back.

**Author's Note:**

> Alt description: Warrior winds up water spirit with a well-intentioned wash.


End file.
